


the hottest touch

by graywhatsit



Series: double sided [2]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anxiety, Guilt, Josh is not smart, M/M, Sickfic, Superpowers, Tyler is angry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4252890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graywhatsit/pseuds/graywhatsit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath, Josh can't help but think it's his fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the hottest touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kcracken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcracken/gifts).



> the sequel-- only a oneshot, sorry-- to sun is climbing (night is falling)
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

“You are  dumb .” This is the end of his long-winded tirade.

“Tyler…”

“ Dumb .”

Tyler isn’t particularly the type to hiss his words; at his most pissed off, he manages to sound vaguely annoyed, rather than angry or threatening. 

Right now is a special case.

Josh, bundled into his bunk as the bus rumbles along the highway, just having pulled away from the main streets, lets out an honest to goodness giggle.

It’s not that it’s like watching a kitten hiss and puff out its fur-- though it is and it’s  adorable \-- but it’s nerves and a slight sense of fear, plus fever delirium, a cocktail all mixed into producing a semi-hysterical, brief giggle fit. 

Glaring, Tyler wrings out the soft washcloth in his hands, letting the water drip back into the bowl he’d placed it in, looking for all the world like he’d rather it be Josh’s neck than a bit of pale green cloth. Still, his wiping away of Josh’s fever-sweat is gentle, and comforting, and enough to get Josh to close his eyes at the feeling.

“ Dumb ,” Tyler repeats, muttering under his breath, and Josh’s shoulders shake with more laughter.

 

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

It had started about a week and a half ago.

They were on a break-- a nice couple weeks of relaxing in their respective homes, napping and eating healthy meals for once, rather than road food, before getting back into touring.

The distance was not that great.

Their connection-- cool shadow edging sunlight, bright warmth ringing darkness-- was a lot fainter when the two were apart. It wasn’t gone  entirely , but with well over 2000 miles stretching the thread thin, it might as well have been. It just felt  weird , not having that something to hold onto when their thoughts got the best of them.

Phone calls and texts just weren’t the same.

But it wasn’t permanent, and there lay the silver lining.

Of course, their respite wasn’t entirely for relaxing. It was catching up with loved ones, taking care of actual adulthood responsibilities, and practicing.

A lot of practicing.

A day spent not tending the blade was another layer of rust, and considering their livelihoods depended on music-making, it was in both Josh and Tyler’s best interests to practice their respective instruments.

At least they  liked  practicing.

But here was the difference: something else needed practicing, and whilst Tyler went at it wholeheartedly, Josh adamantly  refused .

Their powers.

After Tyler’s fall-- in fact, that very night, as they sat in the bus-- they’d had a talk, a serious one. They lay side by side in one of their bunks, because there were two that could belong to Tyler and two that could belong to Josh, but mostly they were just  theirs , with Josh a long line of warmth and solid comfort on Tyler’s right side, and  talked .

About the ins and outs and intricacies; how exactly they’d figured what they could do; if they’d ever wished it away; what they meant by  feeling each other and whatever had happened when they met proper.

They hadn’t quite come to a consensus on that, mostly because they’d both drifted off mid-discussion, curling into one another with a grip like iron bands, grateful they were together and alive.

If anyone else on the bus had a picture of that on their phone, that was their own business and they would never say a word.

Probably.

 

 

* * *

 

The entire ordeal left everyone shaken, and although Tyler was the victim, it was Josh who felt the most afraid, became the most withdrawn.

A part of him, deep down-- or, perhaps, right on his sleeve-- felt it was his own fault for Tyler’s accident in the first place.

He was supposed to the the light, the thing that gave people strength and joy and energy, and though he’d done it, shone bright enough for everyone in the audience and everyone backstage…

He hadn’t been bright enough, warm enough, to keep Tyler strong, too.

It was irrational, incredibly so, and the greater part of Josh’s mind knew that, scoffed at the very notion of it. Not a single person had blamed him for it, just hissed at the awful luck of it, but that one tiny part had managed to be the loudest.

Josh had stretched it too thin. Josh didn’t have enough for everyone at that concert. Josh was too dim, too weak, to keep all of that sludge at bay.

Josh wasn’t good enough.

The thoughts preyed upon his sun, causing it to flicker more like the flame on a candle than a massive creation of nuclear forces. Tyler must have noticed, giving him weird looks, tugging lightly on the thread that tied them together-- an invitation to spill his guts, if he needed.

They’d found they could do that, the tugging, voluntarily; a simple thought and there it was, like a notification on your phone:  hey, I’m thinking of you, I’m glad you’re here, are you okay?

But he didn’t take the offer. It would be too weird, too guilt-inducing, too selfish. This wasn’t his issue; if anything, he should be the one asking  Tyler .

So, he kept it to himself, and kept his powers to himself, even when he got home.

The logic behind this, though it hurt him to  not try and make people as happy as possible, was simple in the way that incredibly flawed plans are: he would keep all of his brightness and heat and happiness, all stored inside his chest, until it came time for him to use it during a concert or something. Then, with a surplus, he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone being overwhelmed and getting hurt again, because he wouldn’t be stretched to his limits.

 

 

* * *

 

But then things happened.

A friend-- one of many in L.A., or from back in Columbus, or  wherever \-- would call, and he could just  sense it in the way he always had, and before he knew it, they were laughing on the other end of the line or on his couch, a new entry in his books.

Someone in line at the store was getting stressed, and he pushed out with his will until they were calm again.

Someone recognized him and approached, and though Tyler wasn’t there to wash the wound he could  tell was there, he could at least keep even more dirt and bacteria and nastiness from getting in.

Basically, Josh had made and broken his promise to himself in less than a week, and then kept running with the pieces because he just couldn’t stop himself.

This fact did not help his anxiety, worming into his thoughts and yelling at him:  how can you keep him safe like this? He almost  died because of you last time, and it could happen again. Do you want him to die?

The answer to that, obviously, was  no,  Josh didn’t. He’d rather let his sun and his spirit go out entirely than have anything awful happen to Tyler, but he couldn’t resist. It wasn’t in his nature to just sit idly by whilst someone-- whether he knew them or not-- felt even the tiniest bit upset. As long as he could help, had the ability to, he would.

His dark thoughts dogging him with every use, Josh went about as he always had, making people happier, stronger, through words or simply by being around, every single day.

For the first week and a half, that was fine. Josh’s guilt gnawed at him, of course, but it was manageable, with drum practice and general adult things he needed to take care of. If it screamed or kicked, he simply hit his skins harder, or-- at night-- took out his notebook and looked over the people for that day.

July 12th, patron- cafe, two minutes.

July 12th, Debby, three minutes.

July 12th, patron- grocery store, one minute.

It felt good to see he had  done good, and it brightened his sun a touch, just a slight fortification against the guilt trying to take it down.

And then it went downhill.

Ignoring it was doing nothing anymore, only ramping up the volume until all he could hear were those words, the ones that pointed fingers and sliced deep, showing what could have and  would happen if he didn’t keep a surplus as he’d promised.

It haunted his sleep, hung over him like a dark cloud from the moment he awoke to the moment he went to bed. No amount of gym time, or his favorite foods, or drum practice, no matter how hard he went at it, seemed to beat it back.

Josh was guilty, and his (supposed) conscience, because he wasn’t quite sure if that thing yelling really was his sense of morality or not, wouldn’t let him forget that.

But, and here’s the thing: Josh couldn’t stop.

No matter how angry that voice was, no matter what it used to slice at him, no matter how he, himself, felt that day, he had a self-imposed duty to everyone around him. He had the power to soothe and encourage, even if it was only the band-aid to Tyler’s bacitracin, and he was going to use it.

It was hard.

The slights against his sun had dimmed it, leaving it small and weak in his chest, and that just wasn’t enough to get even a  fake smile, much less a genuine one. He couldn’t work and do what he had to do when his tools of the trade weren’t up to the task.

So, he forced it.

It took a little while of poking and prodding, since there wasn’t exactly a handbook to this whole power business, and after some trial and error, he managed to coax it into brightness again.

It burned in his chest, like he’d just taken a huge gulp of boiling hot coffee that was blistering the sensitive lining of his organs, but he was satisfied. It was sunlight: warm and bright and enough to comfort and scare away the dark clouds, and that was enough.

He could be enough.

 

 

* * *

 

It all took less time than it normally ever did. Back when it was natural, the process was gradual and gentle, and seemed to all appearances that the mood had worn off on its own. He’d never been the type to try for a new record with it, since that wasn’t the point of the ability; the point was to make people  better .

This was near instantaneous.

Within  seconds of a word from Josh, or being in the same room, or even the same building, every awful mood and thought evaporated. A frown was a smile in a mere moment, and people in L.A., of all places, were now the friendliest he’d ever encountered.

It was kind of intoxicating, having that power, though his guilt washed over every time he was alone for even  thinking it was okay to do.

People were happy, though, and he had more than enough to give to Tyler when he needed it, so every time it started to dim, Josh prodded his sun back into brightness. His insides felt like a desert, sun-scorched and cracking under boiling heat, but he could handle his consequences.

Even the ones he never thought of.

 

 

* * *

 

He’d been incredibly happy to see Tyler again, when it came time to pack up their bus and get on the road once more. Since the accident, both had become far more free with affection, especially hugs, and the one upon their reunion was pretty much the best hug ever.

Fact.

His sun was blackening his insides, turning his heart and lungs to charcoal, but there were smiles on everyone’s faces-- especially Tyler’s-- and that made it okay. 

Until they were settled on the bus, and Tyler turned to face him. Not that it was difficult, considering their position could be described as ‘joined-at-the-hip’.

“Josh,” he muttered, quiet enough no one else could hear, “what’s wrong?”

His face was very close, but he didn’t have the  look , the one Josh was afraid to categorize as what it really was, and meant something neither was quite willing to say, so he pulled back a little, keeping distance. “What?”

“What’s  wrong ?” This was a different look, all furrowed brows, sad brown eyes, lips twisted downwards and quirking off to the left side, just barely. Concern. “You don’t feel…”

Feel? Oh. Josh reached inside, searching for the little edge of shadow, always present in his sunlight. Past the roiling, burning glow, it was miniscule, and he panicked for a brief moment. “Tyler, are  you \--”

“Not about me,” he interrupted. “Are you? It’s too strong, it has been. It’s felt like you were right in the room with me for the past few days.”

So it had been strong enough to reach Tyler, even with the massive distance between them. It probably shouldn’t have made him as happy as it did. “I feel fine.” Josh shrugged, not bothering to keep his pleased smile to himself. “What’s it like now?”

Tyler didn’t quite look convinced. “It’s…” He trailed off, and Josh watched his nose wrinkle, a familiar look-- he was searching for the right words. “Burning,” he blurted, finally.

Josh’s smile was gone in less than a second. “Burning?”

The other man grunted, frustrated, and leaned back from Josh a few more inches. “Well.. I guess. Usually it’s just soft. Warm like a blanket.”

No, Josh didn’t want to see his friend upset, but that blush-- a faint pinkening of his cheeks, barely noticeable unless you knew Tyler the way Josh did, considering his dark skin-- was kind of worth the embarrassment.

“Now it’s like a fireplace, after you’ve gotten in from the cold and snow. It’s  too warm, and it--” He cut off, snapping his mouth shut.

Josh swallowed, dread growing, something sick twisting up his throat. “Hurts.”

Guiltily, though he had absolutely no reason to look that way, Tyler looked away and nodded.

The voice he hadn’t heard in days spoke up, snickering in the usual nasty way.  And you hurt him, anyway. You should’ve listened to me.

“I’m--”

“Stop.” Tyler raised a hand, as if Josh had been ready to charge him. Slowly, he reached out, resting it on his chest, right where his sun lay. He’d never done that before, and Josh couldn’t stop watching, mystified. “Just tell me what’s wrong, please?”

The voice was growing softer, the guilt rolling away as if it were the tide, and he just  knew what Tyler was trying to do. Quickly, he jerked back, shutting off access, keeping away from his hands as if that were the catalyst in working his powers. “Nothing.”

Tyler frowned. “Josh, you’re not a good liar. Please--”

“Nothing is wrong!” And yes, he wasn’t a good liar, that was fact, but it still stung a little. “I’m fine. It happens, when I’m excited. I was excited to see you, that’s it, so it’ll calm down.”

“It’s never done that before, when we were apart,” Tyler replied, and he really didn’t look happy, now. 

Josh shrugged, helplessly, annoyance creeping into his movements. “Well, we didn’t know about it as much, then. We talked and now it’s easier, or something.” That sick feeling was still there, fighting with the burning in his chest, and he could just feel his shirt sticking to him.

“That doesn’t--”

“I’m going to lay down,” Josh muttered, interrupting, and got off the couch in favor of stalking back to the bunks, leaving Tyler to watch him go, concerned, frustrated, and more than a bit hurt.

 

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t nerves, making him feel like this.

Josh knew the difference between worrying yourself sick and just being sick.

This was sort of like the flu, but not quite. Getting the flu in the middle of summer wasn’t the most likely scenario, but his muscles ached, his stomach twisted, and he felt like he was boiling alive.

Plus, in the minute he’d lain down in his bunk, it had become so soaked through with sweat, Josh thought he’d created the first ever tour bus swimming pool.

It was kind of gross.

Really gross.

He’d never sweat this much during the flu, as far as he could remember, and with his vision blurring and thoughts melting right along with the rest of his body, it kind of felt like…

Sunstroke.

He’d been boiling himself alive for over a week, and now it decided to catch up to him, leaving him shaking, sick, and disoriented in a puddle of his own sweat.

Nice job, Dun.

Cursing himself-- though only mentally, because he didn’t think he could get his mouth to move-- he reached in, down to where his sun lay, now swollen red and kind of angry, rather than rich gold.

Red giant-- a dying star.

He just had to undo what he had been doing, that’s all. Carefully, or as much as his slippery thoughts could be careful, he tried to soothe, calm it back into normalcy, back into soft light, warm like a blanket, away from hurting Tyler and himself.

Still fortified against attack, with his guilt constantly warring against the light, his sun refused, pulsing a new wave of heat through his body.

It  hurt , and Josh’s spine bowed, though no sound came out. Maybe his own voice box had melted, with this awful heat.

Nothing was getting through to it, not until--

Not until it was no longer under attack.

Not until his guilt, his dark thoughts, his  demons , were gone.

“T--” and Josh licked his lips, feeling the word catch in his throat, “Ty- Tyler.”

 

 

* * *

 

Yes, he’d heard it.

Tyler had heard Josh call his name, and-- feeling unusually vindictive and hurt-- decided to ignore it. He wasn’t going anywhere near Josh until Josh came to  him to apologize and tell him the matter.

His resolve held out for all of two seconds when he heard the voice again. It didn’t  sound like Josh; it was weak and scratchy and… and  pained .

More worry swirling in his belly-- and a repulsive complimentary wave in the form of a burst of heat from his connection with Josh that he didn’t even  need to search to feel-- he got to his feet and headed back.

“Oh…”

Josh looked.. well, kind of like he was a lobster, to be perfectly honest. His skin had flushed horribly, turning him almost as red as his now-faded hair had once been, and he could see the sweat shining there, sticking his clothes to his body, drenching everything he came in contact with.

Other than that, he looked like he was dying, body trembling and weak, eyes glazed, only faint recognition found when he managed to look  at Tyler and not  through  him.

Tyler didn’t even  need to touch him to tell he had some kind of fever-- his hand could feel the blistering heat rolling off of his friend, and he wasn’t even trying to touch him.

“Okay,” he whispered, unsure if talking would make it worse or not. “Okay, I’ll tell them to pull over, we need to get you to--”

“No!” Josh’s voice was hoarse, and though his grip was weak, the sheer heat of his skin on Tyler’s wrist was enough for him to flinch. “I need.. you have to  listen , okay?”

“Josh, right now isn’t the time! You’re too hot, and--”

“No,” he repeated, tugging gently until Tyler was knelt in the aisle between the bunks. “ Listen .”

Something tugged in his chest, and-- oh. Oh. “Okay, okay. I’m listening.” Tyler took the hand from around his wrist, holding it between his hands, even if it hurt. “What’s wrong, Josh?”

It took some time, with Josh unable to focus for more than a minute or two without trailing off, his throat dry and voice raspy, but Tyler listened. He listened to every single word, not looking away, not saying a word unless it was to get Josh back on the right track, and took every ounce of what had been plaguing Josh for weeks without a single complaint.

His well could handle it.

Josh closed his eyes, when the story was finished, and before Tyler could say anything, he sagged in his bed, as if all of the tension had just vanished.

He prodded, just a little, and found their connection to be  normal , warm blankets and soft golden light, and sighed. The hand between his was still over-warm, but Josh wasn’t violently red, and was no longer sweating buckets.

“Fixed it,” he heard Josh mumble, seeing his lips move in the darkness of the bunk.

“Not out of the woods, yet,” Tyler replied, only fond and relieved right now, and squeezed his hand before letting go. “We have to clean you up, first.”

 

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

“Like I’ve said,” Tyler says, “many times--  dumb .”

“Very,” Josh agrees, and rolls his head, attempting to push into the soft skin of Tyler’s forearm, rather than the washcloth. Once he does, he sighs, soothed.

“Are you actually going to talk to me about stuff, now?” Tyler looks annoyed again, but it’s tempered, softened by the fondness present before his rant. “Because that’s why I’m here. We’re together, that’s the point.”

“Together?”

Tyler freezes, in the process of moving his arm, and looks down at Josh. He looks young, with his faded to pink hair plastered to his forehead, eyes fever-bright. There’s a note of teasing in his voice, having caught the slip, but there’s something else, too, and he isn’t sure how to describe it as anything other than hope.

“Yeah,” he says, finally. “Together.”

Fact.

Josh smiles, slowly, and Tyler’s pressed their lips together in a quick peck before he realizes what he’s done.

“Now,” he moves on, briskly, feeling his own cheeks heat up, “stay still. I’m not done yet.”

Josh, eyes wide, does as told.


End file.
